Come into My Parlor
by Rita C
Summary: When Sansa goes to the Targaryen's annual Halloween bash, the last thing she expected was to come face to face with her demons.
1. In the begining

_Notes:_ As per usual, I own nothing except the mistakes.

**Come into my parlor**

This has got to be the Halloween from hell, Sansa thinks, even as the strangeness of that sentence strikes her over the head like a meat cleaver. Mostly like a cheap, plastic one like those she has been seeing adorning the heads of half the people in this stupid party but still. The analogy stands, as it's the best one she can come up with at present.

Seriously though, what are the odds that not one, not two, but three of the world's shittiest, most sorry excuses for mankind had ended up here, all holed up together in the middle of nowhere, with nothing better to do than to torment her very existence?

And yes, she´s painfully aware that the fact she has actually dated all three of them at some point in her life – some very deep, very low point in her life – doesn't exactly paint her in the brightest of colors.

Sansa has always adored Halloween. Not so much the gruesome horror – although she likes a good scary movie and is not about to scream her lungs out if she happens to see a spider or a bat, no, that's much more Robb's thing – but mostly the part about dressing up. It had always been her favorite, ever since she was a little girl and her mother would make her the most amazing princess dresses.

Assuredly, her costumes have certainly graduated from ankle length ballroom gowns into decidedly slinkier, sexier outfits, but the feeling of slipping into someone else's skin and be a completely different person for a little while is still pretty much the same. She's still convinced the world lost its most astonishing actress the day real life and bills to pay pushed her into a very exciting career as an administrative assistant.

And so, as it stands to reason, the annual Halloween bash hosted by the Targaryens was evidently a no-miss. Even if this year they had decided to host the damn thing at Harrenhal.

As choices go, it was certainly appropriate. The ancient mansion had been abandoned for decades before Rhaegar Targaryen had bought it, determined to bring it back to its previous glory. It's just that its previous glory included a series of skin prickling stories, ranging from the serial killer who lured his victims inside its cavernous halls to the satanic cults who performed blood sacrifices on its lush gardens.

Of course, no one knew for sure if any of those stories were true. And the fact that it was widely said that the mansion was truly and well haunted by the souls of all those who had perished there, well… that just made it perfect for this whole shindig. Except for the fact it was totally out of the way and it had taken her and Robb ages to get there.

The party had already been in full swing by the time they had gotten there, which in true Targaryen fashion meant that copious amounts of alcohol were being consumed, half the people were already barely coherent, and the music was blaring to the point it would most likely kill the other half soon enough.

Her brother had disappeared almost as soon as they had walked through the door, making a beeline for the drinks or the pretty girl currently pouring them. Sansa didn't really care which because, exactly twenty seconds later, she had spotted him. Even worse, he had spotted her right back.

Enter asshole number one.

Joffrey Baratheon had been her golden prince during her teenager years. She was fifteen when they had first met and she had been instantly in love. He was the jock to her princess, the Romeo to her Juliet, and a whole bunch of other bullshit she had waxed poetics about at the height of her infatuation.

Unfortunately, as she had rather painfully learned soon after, Joffrey was anything but.

He made his way towards her with a smirk on his lips and stopped right in front of her, blocking any chance of escape. Sansa bristled at his nerve.

"Sansa." His eyes gave her a once over before settling on her face. It was his trade mark during their relationship, the way he would lock eyes with her, forcing her to cast hers down. "How are you?"

She kept her eyes trained on his face as she heard her mother's lilting voice in her head. _A lady's armor is her courtesy. _She pictured her aunt Lysa, the poised way she had stood when her husband had been arrested for molesting a child, the way she had maintained her composure even when he had gone insane during his trial, screaming about the voices inside his cell telling him all about the horrible ways he was going to die.

(Sansa hadn't felt pity then – she could still recall the way he liked to kiss her when greeting her, always touching her face or her lower back, his hands wandering over places they had no business wandering over. Petyr Baelish was never inappropriate enough to warrant saying anything to anyone but it was certainly more than enough to make her skin crawl.)

So yes, she comes from a long line of strong women. Strong, polite women, who know how to keep their cool in the face of utter sleaze bags. And Sansa Stark is certainly not one to disappoint so, when her eyes finally moved from Joffrey's smug face to give him a rather pointed once over before saying, "Who the fuck are you supposed to be?" in a very snickery tone, she felt rather proud of herself.

She felt even better when he spluttered, drops from his drink landing on his black doublet. Yes, she's not fifteen anymore and it's high time he learned that.

"I'm Aegon the Conqueror. You would know that if you weren't so stupid."

She raised an eyebrow, cocking her head to the side in mock disbelief. "Isn't that kinda tacky? Usurping the ancestors of the family who's hosting the party?"

Joffrey narrowed his eyes in a move that used to make him look dark and mysterious back in the day but right now, it just made him look dangerous. Still, she repeated to herself, _I'm not fifteen anymore you prick._

Her eyes wandered across the room, not-so-secretly plotting ways to escape, until they suddenly locked with a par of stormy grey, lurking in the back. Jon Snow. _No, Jon Targaryen now. Keep up with the times._

Robb's best friend since the first day of school and good boy extraordinaire, Jon had been a permanent fixture in the Stark household ever since. He had been raised by his single mother, Lyanna Snow having decided she wanted nothing to do with the boy's father after having discovered he suffered from a permanent and very severe case of marriage-with-children.

Lyanna had died when Jon was in his teens and he had been sent to live with his estranged father. Rhaegar's wife hadn't exactly been too thrilled to discover her husband's indiscretions but Elia Martell was not one to punish the child for his father's crimes, and had instead turned the brunt of her anger towards her husband. It was a point of constant amusement amongst the highborn ladies of the city how Rhaegar had gone from having an affair with a woman who borne him a bastard to becoming a potential contender in the husband-of-the-year award.

Jon was staring at her with a concerned look on his handsome face and even though the music was too loud and they were too far away, she could almost hear his teeth grinding from how tightly his jaw was clenched. He gave a slight nod towards Joffrey, his body poised like a panther ready to pounce and she knew he was about to come over and put a stop to whatever the fuck this was.

Once again for the people in the back. _I'm not fucking fifteen anymore. _She gave him a slight shake of her head and saw his face furrow. He looked completely unconvinced by this turn of events but, to his credit, had stayed put.

Sansa took a dainty sip of her drink, her eyes still training about the milling people, before she paused. The drink tasted… funny. It wasn't unpleasant, no. Just… different from what she'd expected. Her heart raced as she panicked for a second. Had Joffrey slipped something into her glass?

Just as quickly as that thought entered her head, she chased it out. That wasn't possible, Margaery had given her the drink before she had even stepped through the massive oak doors and she hadn't let go of it since. Joffrey was a lot of things but smooth wasn't one of them; there was no way he could have done something while she was still clutching the glass to her chest.

Very carefully Sansa took another sip. It tasted fine. It wasn't what she had been expecting, the taste far richer and smoother than what she was normally used to drink, but then again she wasn't expecting the Targaryens to serve cheap liquor at one of their parties. She seriously doubted they even knew where to buy cheap… anything, for that matter.

It was probably just the company that had soured her taste buds.

Joffrey was still talking, about the party and the Targaryens and stupid cunts who got invited just so they could spread their legs to them later on, and Sansa was quite frankly fed up with it. "You know what? Go bother someone else for a change." She started to turn away, ready to bask in her victory and enjoy the evening.

"Don't you dare walk away from me bitch." His voice was low and hissing and Sansa startled, although not at the venom dripping from it. She dropped her eyes to her wrist and then to his hands, furiously clenched at his sides. Fifteen years ago, those hands would have been wrapped around her wrists, gripping them so tightly she would have worn the marks for weeks to follow.

His face was red and clammy and she could see sweat gathering on his forehead as she looked back into his eyes. "Not so though now that you don't have your friends here to back you up, are you?"

She didn't wait for his answer. Sidestepping him, she quickly made her way into the throngs of people milling about, putting as much distance between herself and Joffrey as she could.

The music was getting even louder as she approached the dance floor. The lights were almost blinding, flashing in an orgy of red, blues and greens, and she could feel the thumping beat against her ribcage as Loras Tyrell suddenly appeared in front of her. With a joyous smile and a quick peck to her cheek, Sansa was pulled into the midst of dancers, where Renly Baratheon was already doing what she was certain was supposed to pass as dancing.

"Hey there birthday girl." Renly was swaying, his brown locks plastered to his forehead and he gave her a cheeky grin.

"My birthday isn't until tomorrow."

"It's almost midnight isn't it?"

Sansa smiled and leaned closer to yell in his ear. "Renly it's only nine."

He winked at her before chugging down on more of his whiskey. "Never too early to celebrate."

She laughed as all three clinked their glasses in a toast, and soon she was losing herself in the beat of the music. Sansa closed her eyes, smiling, as she let the sounds of the party carry her away.

Three songs later, someone came barreling in on their little piece of heaven, frantically calling for Renly. She watched in concern as his face lost his normally joyous expression and was gradually replaced with worry.

"What's going on?" she yelled at Loras, who was already moving in on Renly, an arm carefully draped around his shoulders.

"Joffrey's having some sort of allergic reaction or some shit. We need to take him to a hospital."

Sansa moved forward, squeezing Renly into a tight hug. She didn't say anything and Renly smiled sadly at her in understanding. The only thing she was sorry about was that she couldn't really say she was sorry.


	2. There in the middle

She was making her way towards the bar, since her drink was long gone and she might as well take advantage of the expensive booze, when someone grabbed her arm. Feeling giddy and carefree – because she was _not_ going to let that prick Joffrey ruin her spirits - she had spun around with a smile on her lips. And then she froze.

Drumroll please, as we welcome into our midst asshole number two.

She had met Harry Hardyng during her second year of college. He was sweet and polite, bumbling his way around campus with a map on his hand and a confused look on his face. Her manners had kicked in and she had offered to help him and he had dazzled her with a brilliant smile.

The fumbling ways of their first encounter had given way to a charming, confident man by their second meeting and that had been it. Harry was everything Joffrey wasn't - he was kind and funny and had a way of listening to her as though he really cared about her opinions. In a word, he was nice.

She hadn't loved him, no. She had never said the words to him nor had she tried to pretend as though she felt something she didn't, but Harry had never pushed her. He never lost his patience and he never asked for more than what she was willing to give.

She had berated herself for it at times. There were days when she told herself she should just put an end to it if they weren't going anywhere, and not lead him on. There were days she convinced herself there must be something wrong with her for how could she not love a man who was as perfect as Harry?

As it turns out, he wasn't.

Three days into their second year together, she had run into him on campus by accident. He had a map in his hand and a confused look on his face and a pretty girl talking to him and Sansa's world came crashing down. All of the sudden, every night spent studying, every late night phone call that went unanswered, his understanding nature and accepting demeanor, all of it reeked of lies.

He hadn't even denied it, the smug bastard. If anything, he was completely unapologetic about the number of times he had cheated on her and if Sansa wasn't as much of a lady she would have punched that brilliant smile right out of his face.

It was the same smile he was wearing now as he stood in front of her and Sansa took a deep breath, trying to dispel the urge to smash his teeth in.

"Sansa! It's so good to see you," he said. "How have you been?"

"You mean after you broke my heart? Pretty good actually."

There was a skeptical look on his face as he answered. "Come on now. You know there were never any hearts involved."

Alright, so that hurt. He was right, yeah, but it still stung to hear it spelt out quite like that. "How about honesty? Apparently there was none of that either."

He at least had the good grace to look slightly embarrassed. "That was a failure in communication. I honestly thought we were on the same page."

"Is that why you were so secretive about all your affairs?"

A group of super heroes clearly intent on saving the world one drink at a time knocked into her side as they passed them on the way to the bar and Sansa stumbled forward. Harry's hands flew to her arms to steady her. "Are you ok?"

"Fine," she answered with pursed lips. This close, seeing his eyes and his smile, it was easy to remember why she had been so eager to lose herself with him. She felt goosebumps prickling her arms as the temperature seemed to drop suddenly, and she shivered.

Harry was smirking – no doubt believing she was shivering because of _him_ – when his gaze flickered over her shoulder and she watched as his whole posture changed abruptly, his shoulders squaring and his back straightening as his eyes widened at whatever he was seeing. She turned around to see it too.

The blonde was stunning, she had to give him that. Even her zombie makeup wasn't enough to take away from the fact that her face was perfectly proportional, her blood red lips and dark eyes incredibly enticing.

She turned back to Harry with a raised brow. "Seriously?"

That seemed to break him from his spell. "Sorry," he muttered, his gaze still flickering between the blonde and Sansa, "I thought I knew her but that's not…" He shook his head, as if trying to clear the cobwebs.

"What? There were so many you can't remember all our faces?" His head snapped back towards her, a troubled look on his face. Yeah, she was being a little bit of a bitch but he was a sorry excuse of a man so… she figured she had earned it.

"Sorry," he said again, this time with a grimace. "That can't be her. She's… I mean, well… she's dead."

"Zombies usually are."

He looked back towards the blonde, her voluptuous form now surrounded by a small entourage of corpse-looking guys salivating around her, and he visibly froze. His face grew pale and he looked quite literally as though he had seen a ghost.

"Sansa."

"What?"

"Do you see them?"

"The dead guys? Yeah," she snorted. "They're kinda hard to miss."

"So you _do_ see them?"

She turned back to him, eyebrow raised and an incredulous smile. "How much did you have to drink?"

There was no answer to her quip but his grip on her am grew painfully tighter and she could feel her heart start to hammer inside her chest as she tried to loosen his grip.

"Harry you're hurting me."

A shadow moved on the corner of her eye and suddenly Jon was there, his own hand tightening around Harry's wrist. "Let her go Hardyng." Harry didn't seem to be listening, his eyes still fixed ahead of him and Jon's voice drew lower as his grip grew harder. "I won't tell you again," he hissed. "Let. Her. Go."

Harry moved as though in slow motion, his eyes landing on Jon before widening like saucers, as though he was just now seeing him there. He stumbled backwards, finally letting go of her before mumbling out some apology or what-not and hightailing it out of there like a bat out of hell.

And then it was just her and Jon.

_Goddammit._

She and Jon had known each other since she was literally in diapers. Robb's constant companion, the two were more like brothers than anything else really. To her though, he was… more like a cousin or some shit like that. A sweet, handsomely hot cousin.

But really, with his soft curls, dark eyes, pouty mouth and sinfully delicious body, well… who could blame her really?

Yeah, she had a crush. One she'd been sporting for a while now – ever since her teens really, but in her mind she was still closer to that than to the dreaded 3-0 she was about to turn in a couple of hours. But the point was, they were friends. Close ones at that.

Jon was still looking at Harry's retreating form with a dark look. "What the fuck's wrong with him?" she heard him mutter. When he turned to her though, he visibly softened. "Are you alright?"

She gave him a shaky smile. "I'm fine. Thanks for stepping in."

"Anytime."

"I don't know what happened. One minute he was fine and the next he was going all I-see-dead-people on me."

Jon gave her a sardonic smile. "I can see half a dozen of them without even blinking."

"I know right?" She looked back towards the corpses who seemed to have frightened the shit out of Harry, not that she minded, but they were nowhere in sight. Her eyes did a quick sweep around the room, but even with their garishly decadent clothing and incredibly real face paint, she couldn't spot them. They seemed to have vanished into thin air.

Shrugging, she returned her attention back to Jon. "Whatever booze you're serving here tonight, it packs a mean punch." She dropped her eyes to where his hand was holding her wrist, his fingers smoothly drawing circles on her reddening skin.

His eyes followed hers and suddenly his fingers stopped their soothing motion. He didn't let go though. "I don't know what they're serving. Rhaenis took care of that."

His eyes were boring into hers again and she gulped. "Where is she anyway? I haven't seen her in ages, I'd like to say hello."

"She's not here. Her mother isn't well, she had to fly down to Dorne to be with her."

"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that. Did Aegon go with her?"

"No, Aegon's around here somewhere," he said with a wolfish smile. His eyes swept over her briefly before changing gears. "Your costume is nice." He waved his hand around, indicating her bodice. "I like the spider bit."

"Thanks. I'd return the compliment but…" she let her eyes very pointedly roam over his black pullover, down his black jeans all the way to the tip of his black boots before letting them journey back north. And if she lingered a little bit over certain parts of his anatomy, well – let it never be said Jon Snow didn't know exactly how to pick a pair of fitted jeans.

So sue her for indulging.

He chuckled before giving her a mock hurtful look. "You don't like my costume? You wound me Stark." At her questioning look he took a small step back before giving her a little bow. "I'm a brother of the Night's Watch."

"Aren't they supposed to have capes and swords and stuff?"

"Well I had a sword." He took a quick scan of the room. "But your brother took it. Said he needed to save a fairy from some brain eating zombies."

Her eyes mimicked his earlier move, scanning the ever growing crowd. "Where is Robb anyway? I haven't seen him ever since we got here."

"Probably huddled in a corner somewhere, seeing what kind of magic that fairy can do." He waggled his brows suggestively and then laughed when she frowned at him. "Wanna go find him?"

"Thanks for that mental picture," she mock shuddered. "And no, I don't. If it's brain eating zombies he's up against then I'm sure he's fine."

"Well hello my lovelies." Margaery Tyrell sidled up to them, wrapping them both in a hug and keeping her arms casually over their shoulders as she gave Sansa an appraising look. "Darling you look beautiful. Doesn't she look beautiful Jon?"

_Fuck._ Sansa could feel the blush creeping up on her cheeks as she risked a look at Jon, relieved to see he was looking a little flustered himself. _Good._

"Yeah, I was just telling her that." His voice took on a deeper, dare she say it, huskier tone as his eyes once again roved over her costume. _Better._

She cocked a brow daringly at him. "No, you weren't."

"Aye," he raised a brow of his own, "I'm pretty sure I was."

Her face was pensive as she pretended to concentrate to remember exactly what he had said. "I believe the word being thrown around was 'nice'."

"Nice?" Margaery's tone was dripping with sarcasm. "Oh my sweet summer child," she tutted at him.

Jon flushed even harder, the tips of his ears turning red and a healthy blush spreading down his neck, and Sansa wondered exactly how far down it went and how much she'd like to find out. Preferably with her tongue, but she was open to suggestions.

"Although that works in my favor as it makes me feel much less guilty about stealing her away," Margaery was still saying. "Darling, I'm in desperate need of your assistance." She batted her eyelashes prettily and Sansa laughed.

"What, the corpse bride needs a wingwoman?"

Margaery scoffed. "It's a much more mundane affair I'm afraid." She waved Sansa closer and dropped her voice in a conspiratorial manner. "I need to go the bathroom and I need you to help me lift up my skirts."

Jon was openly chuckling as Sansa turned to him with an exaggerated sigh. "Sorry. Duty calls." Margaery was already pulling her along when Sansa turned back, shooting him an over the shoulder look paired with a wink. "See you around Snow." He narrowed his eyes and she could swear the look in its stormy grey depths was ravenous. _Perfect._

Helping Margaery with her skirts turned out to be much more complicated than she had anticipated, the layers upon layers of skillfully torn fabric easily catching on the embroidery of Sansa's own dress. Not that it mattered, Margaery was saying, along with thousands of other crap ranging from the cute quarterback from hell with whom she hoped to have a nightmarish evening to how Jon was looking at Sansa like she was the Little Red Riding Hood to his wolf. Thankfully her voice was mostly muffled underneath her skirts, so Sansa only caught every few words.

"Thanks doll. You're a lifesaver," Margaery said as she washed her hands.

"What are friends for right?"

Margaery was looking at her through the mirror. "Sorry I interrupted your little chat with clueless guy wonder."

Sansa gave her a little frown. "He's not clueless. He's not interested either. At least, not like that. See the difference?"

Margaery shook her head. "I swear to the gods, one day I'm gonna lose my patience with the two of you." She finished drying her hands before extending one to Sansa. "Come, let's get back to the party."

"Go ahead. I think I'm gonna go too. Since I'm already here and all."

"I'll wait for you."

"No," Sansa said, waving her hands at Margaery in a shooing motion, "go get your quarterback. I'll be right out."

"You sure love?" Sansa gave her a stern look and Margaery laughed. "Alright sweetie. See you in a bit."

The hallway leading back to the main floor of the party was only partially lighted by the time Sansa started back, the soft glow of the lamps mingling with the retreating shadows to create an eerie atmosphere. Perfect for Halloween.

Not so perfect when she heard a familiar voice calling her name.

Ladies and gentlemen, please put your hands together for the star of our show, asshole number three.

Although asshole was hardly the right word to describe Ramsay Bolton. Harry was an asshole, and a downright great one at that. Joffrey was a prick and creep. But Ramsay, well… Ramsay was a monster.

When Sansa was a child she loved playing monsters and maidens with her siblings. Those were the kind of stories she used to beg Old Nan to tell them, the ones where the beautiful princess was captured by a horrible monster until a fair and handsome prince came to rescue her.

It's funny how the stories never warn you that the worst kind of monsters are the ones wearing a human mask.

And there are no princes coming to the rescue.

She had met Ramsay during her first job. He was a quiet, unassuming guy, the sort you wouldn't look at twice if you happened to notice him the first time around. Most people didn't. He seemed to have mastered the art of disappearing into the background until he was needed and then he was suddenly there, ready to help before blending back into the shadows.

After Joffrey's and Harry's over exceeding confidence, she had liked how quiet Ramsay was. There was a quality about it that almost reminded her of Jon. He seemed safe. They had a world wind romance and before long they were living together.

It was only when the key had turned on that lock for the first time that she had realized she was trapped.

And in spite of how far she'd come after putting an end to that relationship, after leaving all traces of Ramsay Bolton behind – not forgetting, no, never forgetting, the marks he had left on her skin and on her soul a constant reminder, a never ending lesson – in spite of it all, that's exactly how she felt as soon as she heard his voice. Trapped.

"Hello Sansa."

His voice was sickeningly sweet, coating her form like a spider web thinly veiled with drops of honey. His blue eyes were what gave him away, its icy sparkle shining from amidst the shadows, long before he stepped forward so she could see him.

"I've missed you." His smile was something akin to a snarl, a pulling of lips over teeth as he stopped just a few steps short of reaching her.

"Ramsay. You do remember the restraining order don't you?" Sansa was proud of how even and strong her voice came out even as she felt the airs on her arms prickling and her hands curling into fists at her sides.

"I had no idea you'd be here. You haven't exactly kept in touch." He shook his head slowly at her. "But you've always been a naughty girl haven't you Sansa?"

Another step towards her and Sansa stiffened. She stood her ground though, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of backing away. Instead, she gave him a disbelieving look. "My brother's best friend's family is hosting the party."

"Is he _your_ friend though? Or perhaps something more?" There was a hint of something dangerous lurking underneath his casual tone, something that Sansa recognized immediately. Something Sansa chose to ignore.

"You knew I'd be here," she accused him.

"Are you calling me a liar?" He moved forward again and this time Sansa did step back. The shadows flickered over the walls as her back collided with the lamp, almost sending it tumbling to the floor. Ramsay smiled. "Alright, maybe I did have _some_ idea. What can I say? I'm a hopeful romantic."

"If Robb and Jon find you here –"

He cut her off abruptly. "They'll do what? I was invited here, just like everyone else."

"You can't be here."

"Sansa, Sansa," he said, shaking his head in disapproval, "don't be difficult. This house is big enough for the two of us, I'm sure we can manage something."

He seemed to be pondering something before he stepped back, putting some space between them, and Sansa breathed again. "I'm gonna take a tour of the gardens now. I hear they used to have some lovely kennels here. That should put the necessary space between us," he turned his head, giving her one last glance over his shoulder, "until we meet again."

It was only after his footsteps faded, the sound of a door closing in the distance, that Sansa forced her own feet to start moving. Not towards the now dim sounds of the party, no. The last thing she wanted at the moment was to go back in there and risk another chance encounter. It was hard to imagine this night getting any shittier but the way the universe was treating her lately… she wasn't about to take any chances.

Turning around, she went in the opposite direction.


	3. Finally the end

Which is how she finds herself in her current predicament.

This _must_ be the Halloween party from hell, she thinks grimly, as she rounds yet another corner and comes face to face with four different corridors, all leading in opposite directions.

_How the fuck did I get fucking lost INSIDE this motherfucking house? How is that even fucking possible?_

She knows her English Lit teacher would probably be appalled at the lack of creativity behind that sentence but right now she doesn't give a flying fuck. Isn't this the shittiest ending possible to the shittiest night ever?

Her initial escape from the damn party had quickly evolved into the excitement of exploring the old house. Sansa has never been the bravest of all the Stark siblings – she has, on occasion, even heard unflattering comparisons to a kitchen mouse (_not even a garden mouse, for fuck's sake_) – but she has always loved exploring abandoned places. There's something that speaks to her on a deep level, to come face to face with trinkets and artifacts that have been used and cherished long ago by people she will never know.

Harrenhal isn't abandoned, but it had quickly become a study in contrasts, as she wondered across rooms that had been completely refurnished to its previous beauty and straight into rooms where no one had apparently set foot in more than a few decades. She's not exactly an expert on recuperating old houses but she's pretty sure this isn't how they do things on _The Property Brothers_. The excitement had eventually soured though, once her feet had started to hurt and she had decided it was time to get back, only to discover she had no idea where 'back' was.

_Way to go Alice. Straight into the rabbit hole._

In her defense, she has realized – belatedly, she'll gladly admit – that this house is an absolute maze. Harrenhal was the pinnacle of Lord Whent's dreams of grandeur and it definitely shows. Everything is huge and completely disproportional, as though it was built for giants and not men, and the inside is just as senseless. There are stairs that lead to nowhere, rooms where one would expect passageways and everything seems to be tied together in a loop from where there is no escape. She may have to resign herself to the fact that this is where she'll spend the rest of her life, endlessly going up stairs and turning corners and never finding her way out.

_You can check out anytime you'd like, but you can never leave_. No wonder they say the place is haunted. At least, if everything turns out for the worse, she'll have plenty of company.

She chooses the smallest of all four, climbs over the three crooked stone steps at the end of it and turns the corner, and comes face to face with two narrow hallways. None of this looks even slightly familiar which is good – in the sense that she hasn't been walking in circles as she'd feared – but also bad, as it means she's not retracing her steps back into the party.

_Seven fucking hells_. She really needs a drink right now. Or a cigarette. Or her cellphone so she can call the police, the fire department or even her mum. Anyone will do at this point really.

_Alright, yoga remember? _She takes a couple of deep breaths, starting from her belly and all the way up to her chest, to try and calm the fuck down. This isn't impossible. All it takes is a little common sense.

There is what looks to be an open door near the middle of the corridor to her right, a soft silvery hue wrestling its way against the shadows lingering in the corners, and she makes her way there. If she can look outside maybe she'll be able to pinpoint where exactly she is now.

Reference points and all that shit. Dad would be so proud.

The room isn't very big and it's crowded with old furniture underneath layers of dust, but the window is huge. The full moon stands directly in front of it, tiny wisps of clouds being pushed by the wind occasionally obscuring its glow. It's like something right out of a witches story. That, or a slasher movie, she thinks gloomily.

Sansa remembers when she was little, how Old Nan used to tell her that she was lucky for having been born on this night, that there was something special about this time of year. She had never felt particularly lucky though. Right now, she just feels stupid. Still, she supposes, as she makes her way to the massive window, there is something beautiful about this night. Something special, that seems to call out to her.

The gardens that surround the estate are still mostly in disrepair. The grass has grown as tall as a toddler and covers the stone pathways in shades of dark greens and greys. Wild weeds have long since strangled the flower beds, leeching their way into the barks of trees that look older than time. Scattered around the edges of the greenery, antique lamp posts that have long ago grown dark stand as tall as giants, their shadows like black ghosts staring back at her.

She's startled when she hears it at first, a low rumbling sound that seems to be coming from one of the smaller buildings to her left. Probably the kennels Ramsay was talking about earlier from the looks of it.

She frowns as she peers down at it. The thing looks mostly abandoned, with its barred windows and huge cracks lining the roof and she has a hard time imagining Jon, who is a notorious dog lover, allowing for some poor animals to be stuck in there. But there's no mistaking the sounds coming from it.

Something heavy clenches at her chest and she suddenly feels the hairs at the back of her neck prickling, the way Lady bristles whenever she senses something foul. The gnarls coming from down below are steadily increasing in volume, something wild and untamed tearing and snarling and scratching at something, until they stop suddenly and everything is silent again. A startled bird takes flight from a nearby tree and the quiet is shattered with a long, powerful howl. Other voices soon join the first one and the black night is suddenly alight with the gut wrenching sound.

The chorus dies down gradually after some time and the night is silent once again. After the sudden howling everything seems deadly quiet, not even a speck of wind disturbing the few leaves still stubbornly clinging to the wiry branches. The only thing Sansa hears is her blood rushing in her ears.

"Sansa?"

The air hisses as she draws it in through suddenly clenched teeth as she swirls violently around. The shadow looming in the doorway jumps back and lets out a startled – and very unmanly – yelp. Her heart is still hammering away as her brain slowly begins to fire back on, her eyes widening at first and then narrowing in recognition. "Jon?"

He has a hand against his chest, the other one running through his hair in a nervous gesture she has seen on him thousands of times, and she can hear him clearing his throat before fixing her with a glare. "Seven hells, you just scared the shit out of me."

"_I_ scared the shit out of _you_? What the hell are you doing here?" she huffs.

"I was looking for you. Margaery said she left you in the bathroom but no one's seen you since. I was worried."

Ok, so maybe that melts her heart a little bit. "So you came looking for me?"

He shrugs in a casual manner but it does nothing to hide the pink that's faintly coloring his cheeks underneath his beard. "Just wanted to make sure you weren't lost or anything."

And now it's her turn to blush as he gives her a knowing grin. "Don't you laugh at me," she says, as sternly as she can.

"I wouldn't dream of it." He holds up his hands to emphasize his point but she can see the gleam of amusement twinkling in his eyes. "Shall we head back then?"

She huffs as she passes him and he chuckles as she stops dead in the doorway, looking left and right. "Do you want me to lead the way?" he whispers close to her ear, so close she can feel his breath on her neck and the faint smell of the beer he was drinking earlier. Gods, he could lead her straight to hell with that voice and she'd gladly follow.

She elbows him in the ribs instead. "If you'd be so kind."

They walk mostly in silence as they make their way through winding corridors and steep stairways. Jon seems to know where he's going, barely hesitating whenever they reach a new crossway before he leads them left or right accordingly, and Sansa begins to believe there might actually be a light at the end of this particular tunnel, and one that doesn't include a train at that.

It's only when they turn yet another corner and start making their way down the hall that Sansa suddenly stops, breaking the silence that has settled like a blanket over them to call out his name.

"Jon?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you know where you're going?"

"Course I do. You think I'm just walking around aimlessly?"

"You sure?"

He frowns at her, looking genuinely hurt. "You don't trust me?"

"Normally, with my life. In this particular instance, however…" she trails off, nodding her head to her right before fixing him with a stare. His frown deepens and he retraces his steps back to where she stands leaning against a doorway and peers inside the room she just pointed at.

"Shit," he murmurs.

She narrows her eyes. "I take it that means what I think it means."

He gives her a sideways glance before turning back to the room, his hand running through his raven curls before he lets out a frustrated sigh. "This is the room I found you in."

"Which means we've been walking around in circles this whole time."

He turns back to her with a scowl on his face, apparently not finding any of this amusing. _Well, tough_ _luck baby_. Before he can answer her though, the room erupts in a sudden flash of white light, the walls around them trembling with the force of the thunder that follows right after, making the glass rattle on the weathered windows. Sansa jumps, her jaw clenching as she bites down on the startled scream that threatens to follow suit.

"It's just a storm Sans."

She fumes at him. "Just a storm? _Just a storm?_ Are you shitting me right now? This isn't _just_ a storm! This is Halloween, and there's a full moon, and we're lost inside a haunted house –"

"The house isn't haunted," he says, quirking his brow. "I can't believe you believe in such –"

"And NOW there's also a storm! I'm all for the horror mood of the season but this is getting ridiculous!"

"Hey, hey," he says, "it's alright Sansa." His hands are incredibly gentle as he steps forward to rub them up and down her arms, trying to soothe her. "Look at me. We're alright." He's really close now, their noses almost touching, and the breath she takes in to calm her nerves smells only of him, something earthy and warm and familiar. "Better?" he asks after a few seconds, and she nods.

"Sorry. This has been a weird night."

He smiles, trying to lighten the mood. "Well, look at it this way. At least we don't have an axe wielding psycho on our tail."

The shaky smile she's sporting dies on her lips. "I don't know about any axe wielding but we have the psycho part down." He stares at her, clearly not getting it, and she sighs. "Ramsay's here."

"What?" His voice resounds through the walls as another roll of thunder comes crashing in. "What the fuck's he doing here?"

"He says he was invited," she explains, as she stares at him, gauging his reaction.

"No," he says, and there's an absolute finality in his tone that makes her relax a bit. "There's no way. Rhaenys and Aegon would never do that, not without talking to me first and I'd never agree to it. At least, not with these many witnesses around." He smiles as though he's cracking a joke but it never reaches his eyes. Instead, she sees something hard flashing in its greys depths.

Sansa shivers as another thought suddenly pops into her mind. "Do you have any dogs in here?" Jon keeps silent, his face an unreadable mask as he stares at her, no doubt trying to make sense of the sudden change in conversation. "In the kennels. I thought I heard them howling a while back," she clarifies.

He shakes his head, giving her a puzzled look. "No one lives here. Besides, I'm the only one who has a dog and if I had brought Ghost, I wouldn't have put him in the kennels."

Of course. That makes sense.

Jon gives the room one last dismal look before turning back to her with a sheepish smile. "Maybe you should lead this time."

"Yeah, because I was doing such a bang up job of it before you showed up." Still, she starts moving, leading them back the way they came, up until the corner where she turns the opposite way. She can hear Jon's footsteps following close behind. It's reassuring somehow, even if he's just as lost. She's not alone anymore.

At the very least, he'll make for good company even if they never find their way out.

"So let me get this straight," he says after a while, "you ran into Joffrey, Harry _and_ Ramsay? All three of them?"

She shrugs. "My kind of party."

"I'll bet," he murmurs. "I mean, what are the odds?"

"Maybe I should try the lottery next."

He smirks. "I have to admit though, it was very satisfying seeing you telling Joffrey off."

She looks at him over her shoulder. "You were about to see me do the same to Harry if you hadn't been so quick to step in."

"He was hurting you," he says, and that hard edge is back in his eyes.

"And my boot was about to hurt him right back. Hard." She smiles wickedly. "I was channeling Arya. He should be thanking you."

He lets out a startled laugh as his eyes fall to the mentioned boots. They're black leather, soft and pliant all the way up to her knees, with some killer heels. Rickon had joked about how she could easily stab a man with those. _Or maybe fuck one. _Jon's eyes are now raking up her body, over her legs and lingering slightly at the apex of her thighs, sweeping over her bodice and trailing her neck before settling on her mouth. It's a thorough eye-fuck if she's ever seen one. And when he licks his lips before finally locking eyes with her, she feels it like a caress over her skin.

"I wouldn't want you to ruin them. They look…" he hesitates before giving her a devastating smile, "nice."

She grins at his cheekiness. They have been doing this for what seems like forever now, the friendly back and forth of friendship always skirting around the edges of flirting, the eternal _will-they-won't-they_ that has most of their friends rolling their eyes and, in Theon's case, probably making bets. But there's something definitely different about tonight. Something far more deliberate, that seems to be taking them much more towards the _when-will-they. _

The corridor comes to a sudden end, opening up into a large room with massive floor to ceiling windows, wood paneling all around and a gigantic chandelier hanging over their heads. There's a huge dining table at the center, complete with velvet backed chairs, the brightly polished wood seeming strangely out of place when everything else is covered in what looks to be years' worth of dust.

"Wow."

She cocks a brow at him. "You've never been here before?" she says, remembering his earlier misguided bout of confidence about knowing his way around.

He seems to be remembering the same thing as he looks sheepishly at her. "In the house? A couple of times. In this room?" His eyes take a long sweep around. "I think I'd remember something like this."

"Well, I don't know about you but I need a break." She struts inside, the carpeted floors muffling the click clack of her heels. The storm is still raging outside but the lighting seems to be holding up so far, several lamps bathing the room in soft yellow hues, a stark contrast against the dark woods and blood reds of the décor. Jon follows her in, pulling up a chair for her to sit before sprawling himself in the one next to it.

"This house was always more of my father's project. He said there was something about it that reminded him of his Valiryan roots."

She doesn't really know what to say to that. The stories about Old Valirya – the ones she'd heard about as a child – were always filled with gore and bloodshed, gruesome tales of incest and madness, sprinkled with just a tad of magic and witchcraft. There's something strange about this house, that's for sure. She can feel it in her very bones, to borrow one of Old Nan's sayings. But she always thought there was something strange about Rhaegar Targaryen as well.

There is something she wants to tell Jon though. Something she feels is way past its due. "I'm sorry I didn't come to see you at the hospital."

The twitching of his fingers as they drum against his jean clad thigh is the only indication that he's heard her as he keeps his eyes glued to the carpet. "It's alright."

She sighs as she contemplates his answer. His quiet dismissal is nothing short of expected but it isn't what she wants. "No, it isn't. We've known each other ever since we were kids. We're friends. I should have been there."

"You were dealing with Ramsay at the time." His eyes have seemingly lost their interest in the swirling patterns adorning the floor and he looks straight into her own blue gaze. Somehow, it gives her the courage to forge ahead.

"Robb said you died." She sees him flinch at her words. "He said that when he got to the hospital the doctors told him they were trying to revive you. That you had died and they didn't know if they could bring you back." Her voice breaks but there's nothing she can do about it, the helplessness she always feels whenever she thinks of that terrible night threatening to pull her under until there's nothing she can do with it but drown.

He must hear it too and suddenly he's leaning forward, holding her hands and invading her space, breathing her in. "But they did. They brought me back."

Her smile is probably more like a grimace, her voice barely above a whisper. "What was it like?"

He lets her go and leans back in his chair, his hands running over his face. "I don't remember much of it. I remember the stabbing." He shrugs as though he's talking about something meaningless but his eyes betray the pain the memory still causes him. "I remember thinking how cold everything was, how it felt like I was drowning…" he trails off as he sees her shuddering. "And then I just remember waking up with my father beside me."

This times it's her that leans forward, placing her hands over his thighs in what she intends to be a comforting gesture until his eyes darken and he raises his hand to trace a finger gently over her cheek. "I could have lost you that night," he says, and something both warm and dangerous sparks in his eyes.

She swallows before giving him a shaky smile. "I think that's my line."

"No, it isn't." He leans forward again and his face is now just inches apart from hers. "I could have lost you without never truly having you."

He moves, just the slightest bit forward and Sansa knows he's going to kiss her. Her hand moves up, her palm pressing flatly against his chest and he immediately stops, making her feel a surge of power. It's intoxicating, the knowledge she can stop him with just the barest of touches, that he will submit to her so willingly. She can see the hurt and regret swimming in his eyes but for once she doesn't regret putting them there. If they're going to do this – finally, at long last, actually do this – she wants to be the one to take that final step. She wants to make sure neither one has cause to doubt ever again.

His fingertips are still grazing softly against her neck, as though he fears this is both the first and the last time he has the chance of doing so. Her left hand finds purchase on his arm, holding him against her, as the other one cups his face gently. His beard is scratchy against her palm as her midnight blue nails graze his skin and he closes his eyes when she finally bridges the gap between them.

Behind her closed eyelids she can see flashes of lightning and hear the rolling of thunder from the storm outside. Or maybe it's fireworks and the mad beating of her own heart and the storm actually exists inside of her. All she knows is that his lips are soft and yielding as they move against her own, giving her complete control over the kiss, and her brain is scrambling to catch up, trying to memorize his reactions. A soft nip at his bottom lip has him groaning, the tug of her fingers in his hair makes him tilt his head as his arm snakes around her waist to pull her into his lap.

She can feel him poking against her ass, the hard plains of his chest rubbing against her nipples as she presses herself against him, and she moans. That seems to be all the encouragement he needs as his control snaps and he grabs her thighs to lift them both up, never breaking the kiss, before settling her down on the table.

Her legs are splayed open and he settles himself in between, her knees cradling his hips and reeling him in. She can feel him rubbing against her most sensitive spot, white hot sparks of pleasure searing through her body and she tears her mouth away in a gasp. His lips never leave her skin, trailing fire across her jaw line and nipping at her ear lobe before venturing down to suck at her neck. His right hand is splayed against her back, keeping her up, but his left is slowly trailing under the hem of her dress and over her thigh, his fingertips toying with the edge of her panties.

She feels the rip against her skin more than she hears it, and she means to give him a dirty look and a slight scolding – those were some of her more expensive panties, after all – but all she manages is a keening, needful sound as he takes half a step back before placing his hand fully against her core. His fingers dip beneath her folds, easily parting them, and the lady in her should feel embarrassed about how wet she already is but she can't, not when his thumb is brushing her clit in the most delicious manner, not when he slips one and then two fingers inside of her and she can feel her toes already curling in pleasure.

_Gods, but the man knows what he's doing_. Her hips buck against his hand and he snaps his eyes back to hers, a smug grin on his face, but right now he has every right to be smug, she thinks, as she grabs his face and pulls him back up to her mouth. It's only a fleeting kiss before she's throwing her head back, his arm around her waist the only thing keeping her up, and she lets out a wordless scream.

When she opens her eyes again her whole body is still shuddering. Jon is looking at her as he brushes a lock of hair behind her ear, the gesture incredibly sweet after what he just did to her with that hand, his eyes filled with lust and something else she doesn't dare to name just yet.

Her fingers play with the soft hair at the back of his head, her nails raking lightly against his neck and she's delighted when he closes his eyes, letting out a low rumbling sound. They're still so close that she bumps her nose against his as she tilts her head to the side to whisper in his ear, "I want more." Her hands smooth down slowly over his chest until they reach his belt, her fingers making quick work on the buckle.

"Sansa" he rasps out through gritted teeth, "we don't have to…" Whatever else was going to come out of that gorgeous mouth is lost as she pops the button on his jeans and lets her hand play along the fine hair over his abdomen.

"I know," she says, her hands pushing his jeans and boxers down over his hips, fingertips touching the velvety hardness before she looks back into his eyes, a coy look on her face as he bucks against her. "I want you Jon."

His uncertainty turns into a wolfish smile, his hands gripping onto her hips to pull her towards the edge of the table, the tip of him brushing against her wet folds. "As the lady commands."

When he slides inside of her, the only thing she can think of is that it won't take long for her to peak again. He sets a brutal pace, his hips snapping against hers in all the right ways, his cock hitting that delicious spot inside of her with every stroke. His right arm encircles her waist, keeping her close even as his left hand moves between them to circle her clit. Her legs have wrapped themselves around his hips and her arms move around his shoulders, their tongues mimicking the movements of their lower bodies as they swallow each other's moans.

Lightning flashes just as Sansa wrenches her mouth free to scream his name as her orgasm washes over her. She thinks she sees something violet sparking in his grey eyes as he leans forward to whisper _you're mine now _against the skin of her collarbone but a second later thunder crashes, and Jon roars her name as he spills inside of her.

She's still limp and completely boneless when he collapses against her, his weight pushing her backwards against the table, his hands moving rapidly to cushion her fall. She lets out a contempt sigh as she combs her fingers through his sweat dampened hair, willing her racing heart to finally settle back down.

He's grinning when he finally raises his head from her chest to look down at her. "This isn't how I thought this night would go."

"Second thoughts already? Man, you're fast." Her attempt to look miffed is shattered by a squeal of laughter when his hands tickle her sides.

"Never," he says, moving his hands up so he can settle on his forearms and give her a heart melting kiss. "My only regret is how much time I've wasted." The tips of his fingers toy with the loose strands of her hair before he brings a lock up to his lips. "But I'll never regret how tonight turned out." His cock twitches against her inner thigh and he gives her a playful smirk.

She cocks her brow before giving him a slight shove. "Down boy." He laughs, leaning down to give her a quick peck on the lips before straightening, his hands gripping her elbows to help her along, even as she uses her stomach muscles to lift herself up to try and chase his lips back to hers.

Jon is tucking himself back into his jeans as Sansa stares at the mess between her legs, looking around for something to clean herself up with. "Where are my panties?"

"Those are mine now," he smirks, and she huffs at him.

"I bet you're gonna look great in them."

He moves back against her, his arms boxing her in as he grips the edges of the table on each side of her. His breath is warm against her neck and she feels his teeth bluntly nipping at her ear. "Want me to clean you up?"

Oh Gods, does she ever. Even though she seriously doubts her body is capable of another orgasm right now – another knee-weakening, mind-blowing, earth-shattering orgasm – she'd be lying if she said she wasn't very, very tempted. She feels him smiling before he moves back, allowing her brain to start working again. "Raincheck?"

"Whenever you want love." He nods his head to a small greenish door, partially hidden by the wooden paneling. "There's a bathroom over there where you can clean up."

She's throwing the paper towels down the toilet, checking herself in the mirror to try and make herself look presentable – never mind the marks Jon has left on her neck and collarbone as there's nothing she can do about that – when it suddenly hits her. How did he know about the bathroom? Hadn't he said he had never been here before?

She's still frowning, trying to collect her thoughts, when a strange noise, followed closely by a moan, startles her. There's a door on the other side of the bathroom, probably a connection to the adjoining room, and as she strains to hear it, it's obvious there's something happening on the other side. The door isn't locked, or even closed properly, the hinges creaking as Sansa pushes it open and her eyes widen.

Harry is half sitting, half lying on a couch, someone Sansa instantly recognizes as the blonde zombie from the party sprawled on top of him, her hand palming him over his trousers. She can't see the blonde's face as it's hidden on the crook of Harry's neck, but Harry sees Sansa. He lets out a strangled noise, his eyes widening at her before he lifts up his hand, beckoning her to come closer and she frowns. Is that dick really inviting her to join them?

A shadow moves in her peripheral vision and the door bangs shut abruptly. Jon is looking at her in concern as he grabs her elbows and gently steers her back. "Fucking hell," he mutters, as he gives the now closed door a dark look. "This night can't end soon enough."

"I'll say," she mutters. He pulls her against him, his arms wrapping around her as his lips graze her temple and she nudges her nose against the crook of his neck.

"What do you say we head back to the party?" He pulls back slightly to give her a boyish grin. "I promise it isn't half as bad as it seems."

She's about to make a joke over the fact that they're still as lost now as they were an hour ago, but now that the storm is finally over, she can hear the faint strains of music coming in from somewhere down the hall. She nods, tucking herself against his side as they make their way outside. And just as they're stepping out, she catches their reflection in the mirror, hair still pretty much disheveled, the remains of her red lipstick marring the black of his shirt, his beard burn making her neck look as pink as a new born.

He looks at her through the mirror, angling his head so he can kiss her cheek while still keeping his eyes locked on hers. "Happy birthday baby," he whispers. And this time, she can swear she sees something violet flashing in its grey depths.


	4. Epilogue

This time, as they start back towards the party, Jon knows exactly where he's going. It takes them only a short while before the music is blasting its way into the corridor, pulling them back into the mass of bodies drunkenly swaying across the room.

Jon brings her hand to his lips, gently kissing her knuckles before smiling. "Do you wanna dance?"

She nods and he pulls her along, twirling her around as they reach the center of the room before pulling her firmly against his chest, eliciting an excited giggle from her lips. His arms reach around her, a palm planted against her lower back, the other finding its way up her spine to tangle gently in her red locks. Her own arms have wound themselves around his neck and she tucks her head against the crook of his neck. _Right where she belongs._

He knows better than to blame this pull she has on him on anything other than his own heart. He has loved her for far longer than anyone would ever suspect.

It had been his reaction to her infatuation with that asshole Joffrey that had first opened his eyes to his real feelings for his best friend's little sister. He had watched as she lost herself in her feelings for the blond jerk, how he gave her nothing but contempt and threats in return. The desire to see him choke over his own words was so dire Jon was sure his own hands would end up doing the job.

_In time, she will learn how Joffrey died on the way to the hospital, choking on his own spit as bloody foam spurted from his mouth. Allergic reaction, the people will call it. But Sansa will know the truth._

When her path to college had taken her miles away from him, he had briefly thought about following her. But his father had cautioned him against it. She needed time, he had said, time to grow into herself and learn what she wanted. Jon hadn't liked it, but he had agreed.

He had learned about Harry from Robb and once again jealousy had reared its ugly head. But it was Robb's own rageful comment about how that prick had cheated on Sansa that had truly sealed his fate.

_In time, she will discover how the pretty zombie from the party was really someone Harry knew – or thought he knew, in any case. Rhaenys is good at getting these things arranged, even if she doesn't have the stomach to stick around for the fallout. Sansa will be shocked, no doubt, when Harry's body is discovered, livid and cold and mangled in one of the mansion's secluded rooms. Too much alcohol, the people will whisper, his heart gave out. But she will know._

His own death had changed something deep inside him. He didn't exactly lie when he told her he couldn't remember much. He doesn't. But what he does know is that there was someone else in the room with his father when he had woken up, and one look into the woman's face had made it clear he wasn't supposed to have come back. But whatever else death might have done to him, the one thing that never changed was his love for her. If anything, it just made everything clearer. He needed her. He wanted her. And he was going to have her.

He knows why she hadn't visited him in the hospital. While he was lying in that hospital bed, she had been in a different one, recovering from wounds inflicted upon her by the prick who was supposed to love her. Ramsay is the one he's sorry he couldn't kill with his bare hands. She doesn't know it – at least Jon doesn't think she does – but soon after his release from the hospital he had paid Ramsay a visit. His knuckles had been scraped raw as he had beat the sorry motherfucker into a pulp, his face a distorted, bloodied mass by the time Jon had stopped. Sometimes he wishes he hadn't. Stopped, that is.

_In time, she will hear about the disfigured body found in what used to be the mansion's old kennels, too eaten and torn to pieces to allow for a positive ID. There will be speculation about how it was probably some homeless guy attacked by wild animals – and won't Aegon be pissed when he hears his hounds being referred to as such. But Sansa will know the truth._

He nudges his thigh between her legs as he presses closer to her and she lifts her head to shoot him a dirty look. Her dress is short enough as it is and he still has her panties safely tucked away in his pocket. He kisses the tip of her nose in apology as he sways her gently across the floor. He'll behave for now. His plan is finished and Sansa is safe in his arms.

_In time, she will come to learn what he is. She will know the truth about the Targaryen bloodline and heritage, how the stories of madness were mere tales to mask a much uglier truth. In time, she will accept that everything he's done has been for her._

He twirls his fingers through her hair, gently tugging her head until he can capture her lips with his own in a whisper of a kiss. Her eyes are sparkling as she pulls back to look at him.

"I love you Jon."

"I love you too sweetie."

It's time to reap his reward.


End file.
